Every winter-webbed word you whine in your woe,
Is poetry drawn from a precious power you owe...
God-given gift, in your blood it'll flourish and flow,
Use it or lose it, that tremendous talent, Alter Ego!

Use it
Lose it
Don't let it
Go.

Oh, but my poetry was never truly "mine" to own,
Just the trashy ramblings of a theatrical preteen,
Sees herself a finer poet on her fictional throne,
Stacked of mediocre stanzas so many times seen.

(As if!)

Use it
Lose it
Just let it
Grow.

Every summer-spun smile in the sentences you sew,
Is a testament to the truth you'll forever grow...
Be damned with the cold, damned with the snow,
Use it or lose it, that tremendous talent, Alter Ego!

© Alter Ego